


All the Devils are Here

by drowninglovers



Series: When there's Nothing Left to Burn [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Feuilly is Macyver and I refuse to hear otherwise, Gen, everyone else is badass too, everything is grantaire, grantaire is a bamf, may continue this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninglovers/pseuds/drowninglovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Introduction</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Devils are Here

**Author's Note:**

> Idea inspired by Ani (truethingsproved) and Kaitlyn (villainyandgoodcheekbones) it was too badass to resist.

This has been going on for a little over three months, they think. Keeping track of time hasn’t been as important as making sure that they still have some left. It turns out that being confided to a partly-demolished café isn’t as bad as they thought, ignoring the fact that an army of the undead waits outside and would delight in nothing more than infecting them.

Other than that, they’re perfectly fine.

The lot of them have become accustomed to identifying each other by the way the floorboards creek when they walk or by the sounds of their breathing. Operating as something of one brain in 13 bodies they gradually learn to carry on as much of their lives as they can.

Always armed and always prepared for the worst they’re not so much college students as they are fucking warriors in this world. Gone is the pressure of grades and wondering if that hot barista at the Starbucks across the street is worth being consistently reprimanded about corporate greed and workers wages. Their protest rallies seem like sunshine and rainbows compared to this hell. Now all they care about is survival.

Sleep doesn’t come easily and when they finally wear down their fingers curl around their weapons and with eyes that barely shut and bodies waiting for an attack. Their pillows are backpacks filled with emergency gear and their blankets are the heat-resistant jackets that Éponine nabbed from a sportswear store.

Luxuries such as comfort aren’t worth getting killed over.

The A/C works sometimes, the heat is probably broken after Bahorel smashed the radiator but if they have to, they’ll huddle together and to keep themselves warm. Though they doubt they’ll even make it to winter.

Considering that most of them have never even held a gun before they’re all surprisingly able with their weapons of choice. Most of them are content to use shotguns or some other firearm that doesn’t require close range to be effective. Bahorel smashes in heads with a lead pipe, Musichetta will take what she can get but is especially deadly with a shovel, and Cosette has proven to be terrifying with her knives to the point where Marius nearly wets himself every time he looks at her.

Grantaire uses a machete because bullets are precious and he doesn’t need a gun to raise hell, he does that without any assistance. From the first day when he caved in a zombies’ skull with its own mangled arm he’s been their leader and nobody, not even Enjolras, questions his judgement.

To put it in the simplest terms Grantaire was made for a world without hope. He’s a force of nature, a hurricane trapped inside a human shell who’s been waiting far too long to be unleashed. 

This is messy fighting with no rules and opponents whose thoughts have long passed their expiry dates and whose only goal is to plague others. They’re not fighting for Patria or freedom. Now they’re waging wars for their lives and nothing matters so much as staying alive. All this mindless violence is the stuff of nightmares that Grantaire knows better than any of them. He burns through all the fear and panic that comes with living in an apocalypse and the knowledge of how to survive on cynicism alone has been ingrained in his skull from the first he learned to hit back after getting struck down.

There are a lot of things that he isn’t. He isn’t built like a fucking brick wall like Bahorel, fast like Jehan and Cosette, trained on how to deal with medical disasters like Combeferre and Joly or, able to Macgyver a catapult out of paper clips and rubber bands like Feuilly. Grantaire has smokers’ lungs and hasn’t been in shape since high school but he comes with a certain brutality facing zombies that would make Lucifer quake in his boots.

It isn’t the case of some fancy knifeplay or brilliant strategizing, it’s rage and destruction that’s always been buried underneath all that sense and nonsense. He doesn’t hide behind his cynicism, he feasts on it only to spit it back up in their ugly faces. 

With Grantaire in charge there are no passionate speeches to raise the morale instead he looks at each of them in turn and says ‘give them hell’.

They intend to.


End file.
